Definitions
by peggie sue
Summary: Partner-  n. a person who shares or is associated with another in some action or endeavor; sharer; associate. E/O, oneshot.


When you find him, crying, you don't know why. At first you're confused, but then you forget it, because with Elliot, you always are. There is no singular definition to your relationship. You are partners, but you're so much more. You are partners in everything that you do. Even though you will never be a couple, you love him more than anything in the world. You love all that you share and all the complications that you'll never understand because somehow, that's what makes it so easy. Even though you bicker constantly, and disagree on everything, and are polar opposites, you love him. And you know that he loves you. You are a funny balance, the two of you, and when you see him crying, you only want to make it better.

You have seen Elliot cry more than any other person in his life. You know this, as a fact, because he told you so one January night when you were camped out in the car waiting to bust a perp who always seemed to come home from wherever he was a little after three in the morning. He knows you better than anyone else in your life. You told him so, after his own admission, even though he already knew it to be true.

You both know that Elliot is, essentially, the _only_ person in your life. He is your family, your priority. To him, you are a co-worker, a friend, an option, and always a phone call away. Nothing about two of you should work, but miraculously, it does. You don't know what you would do without him.

His strong frame hunched over on one of the metal cots in the crib sends a shiver through your bones. His head is in his hands, and even though it's quiet, you can tell that he's crying. Hard. It's in the subtle way that his arms shake, the slight manner of which his fingers press too tightly into his hairline, shielding his face from yours. He doesn't know you're there, and you cough quietly to make your presence known.

He exhales deeply as you cross the room, the early morning light lost to the both of you at the far back of the precinct. There aren't any windows, and the lights are switched off despite the fact that in a few hours, your workplace will be filled with people. You'd left your paperwork on your desk by accident last night even though you had known you were too exhausted to finish it at home anyway. You'd come in early, and even bothered to stop for coffee because you'd seen Munch sneak the empty Folgers can back into the cabinet a little before midnight last night.

It's Elliot's pet peeve, when John does that, and you'd saved everyone the trouble of your partners bad mood. Now you know that you couldn't have helped it. This, you think, is the worst you've ever seen him. You know it will be a long day and it's barely five in the morning. You shiver again, suddenly cold. This time, Elliot seems to register your presence, a stunted sigh falling from his lips.

"That's you, Liv?" His voice is hoarse, rough, and you imagine that he's been like this for a while now.

You nod even though he can't see you and sit down beside him on the cot, its rusty hinges squeaking. "Who else would be invading your personal space at four forty five in the morning, Elliot?"

His chuckle is bitter, but it makes you smile that you can still make him laugh, even when he's upset. You're quiet then, your knee barely brushing his. You rest your elbows on your knees and cup your chin in your hands. You don't speak because you know that just being there is enough. When you're in a mood, or upset, just having Elliot nearby is enough to evaporate the tears from behind your eyes. You hope that your presence offers him the same level of comfort.

After a few minutes, you can tell that the crying has lessened, but hasn't stopped. It scares you, almost, to see him like this. Especially when you're used to thinking of him as so big and strong and invincible. You always associate Elliot with being a superhero, in the dark corners of your mind, because in many ways, he is.

He saves people every day.

He saved you.

He offers them comfort, security.

He does the same for you.

There isn't a moment when he isn't looking out for the people that he cares about.

And everyday you feel blessed to be one of them, even if you'd never in a million years admit it.

But then you remember that Elliot is human. He gets angry, gets upset. He's angry most of the time, actually, but maybe that's why he makes such a good Superman in the deepest recesses of your brain. He chokes out another sob and it's strangled against the calloused skin of his palms. You dare to reach up, tugging his hands away from his eyes. At first, he resists your touch, but when you add pressure to your grasp he allows you to pull his hands away. Instead of taking yours in his own, he grips the metal rung that runs along the edge of the cot. You're okay with that.

Another beat of silence passes as the situation weighs down on you. There's a part of you that wants to kiss the smile back onto his face and feel the weight of his muscular arms pulling you closer against him, but you shove the notion away. It will never happen—you have to keep the balance. Instead, you decide that speaking will suffice. "Want to talk about it?" Your voice is quiet, but it isn't a whisper.

He chuckles again. "Not really, no," he admits, honestly, and a sad smile graces your lips. He knows that he can tell you anything, and you know that you could tell him the same. It's probably the reason why neither of you have ever bothered to acknowledge the fact that you love each other. He probably already knows your truth, just like you know his, merely by the way he allows you to see him in a moment so weak.

"Yeah, well spill it, because there's a hot coffee on your desk that's calling your name."

"I'll make more later."

"John used the last of it last night." Your partner shivers, leaning closer to you so that your shoulder brushes his. The two of you are quiet again, and you feel him breathe deeply, as if he's trying to absorb some of your strength into his own skin. The silence isn't awkward or uncomfortable. Instead, it is a welcomed medium for the thoughts that the both of you are afraid to share with the words you don't know how to say if you ever even found a need to say them. Like you said before, you know each other too well to have anything left to confess.

It feels like forever has passed before you nudge him gently with your elbow. "What's wrong, El?" Now your voice is a whisper, driven by the silent tears that dribble down his scruffy cheeks and the pain at seeing him upset that bubbles inside of you.

He swallows. "Kathy and I... we got into a fight last night." He scrubs a hand over his face, sighing, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "A bad one. About how, I... I was working too much overtime, but she didn't understand that Kathleen wants to go on her school trip to France, and we just don't have the money..." he trails off, and you remember him mentioning the ridiculously expensive field trip to you last month, when the first down payment was due.

They'd decided to send her, after all that she'd been through, because she'd been working hard at turning herself around. Kathleen was doing well in school and adjusting to a new group of friends that understood her a little better. The field trip was a week long, invitation only, the opportunity of a lifetime. He'd been working so much overtime lately that one who didn't know his reasoning as well as you do would have thought that deep purple bags under his eyes and rumpled, slept-in dress shirts were the new fashion.

You swallow, waiting for him to continue. He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "She just... she didn't get it that I can't be in two places at once. That I can't be home for dinner... every night, and still work a million extra hours, and still expect to have the energy to do things with the family."

You speak, allowing your opinion to be voiced just this once. "It isn't your fault, Elliot. You're doing the best that you can."

He shakes his head again. "It isn't good enough. It was never good enough, and she called me... an, a bad father... and said that I didn't care about her, or the kids, just work, and you, and I—" he breaks again, cut off by the sound of his own tears. He tries to choke back a sob, but it doesn't work, and he slumps in defeat and embarrassment as you tentatively place a hand on his back. He leans into your touch as he speaks, anger rising in his words. "I just wanted to hit her so bad, Liv... I just wanted to make it stop. Make her _stop_... I wanted to hit my _wife_, Olivia. And that terrifies me."

You aren't scared.

He doesn't resist when you allow your arm to circle around him completely, pulling him close to you. You don't stop yourself when you reach around him again, pressing his head into the crook of your neck. You love him, and it powers your movements, and you can't begin to justify the level of comfort that rises inside of you when you know it should be the other way around. _You're_ the one that's supposed to be making _him_ feel better.

"But you didn't," you whisper, running your fingers through his cropped hair as his breathing slows. "You didn't, Elliot, and that's what matters." He shivers at your touch, and it almost makes you feel good, needed. You pretend that the butterflies in your stomach don't exist when he slumps even closer to you, because this time, it isn't about how you feel. You wonder if this is even about the two of you, at all, before you decide that it is.

He's quiet as he calms down, and soon, you stop feeling the warm dampness that comes with his tears against your skin. You wonder what time it is and how many minutes have passed since you found him like this. "How is it," he mumbles, almost bitterly, "that you can understand everything that she can't?" It's barely a question, and you shouldn't answer, but you wait a beat and then you do.

"Maybe it's because I know you, Elliot." You swallow, thickly, and you feel him do the same. The material of your sweater is wet from his tears, but it isn't uncomfortable at all. You hate yourself for letting the evidence of his emotions feel like a secret pressed against you in the most innocent of ways.

"She should know me, too. She's my wife, Olivia."

You don't know what to say to that, so for a while, you don't say anything. And then you speak, hesitantly, because it's the only consolation you can offer. "And I'm your partner."

You think that maybe his words are driven by the weight of his emotions, or the delirious feeling that comes with hours of crying, or the intimate positioning of your bodies. "You're my partner for everything, Liv." It's quick, and honest, and poignant in the way that it's the closest thing to an _I love you_ that you're ever going to get.

"You're my partner for everything, too," you say softly, squeezing the expanse of his arm under your palm. You smile when you feel his own against your collarbone.

Maybe, you think, as you allow him to untangle himself from your arms, there is a word to define the two of you after all. _Partner._

Partners in crime, in friendship, at work. Partners in emotions and jokes and troubles, partners in knowing exactly what the other is thinking at any given time. It comes with the job, you guess, because there is no one in this world that knows your exact fears and worries and insecurities better than Elliot Stabler.

Partners in wishes, and in wishes that you don't even have to voice for the other to hear loud and clear.

Partners in hope, because you've both been working this unit for what feels like forever and you still manage to find something to live for in each new day that comes.

Partners in fight, because even when you're apart, you're together.

Partners in life, because you are, and nothing can ever change that.

Partners in love, because its true, and someday soon, you hope you'll both admit it.

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_**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading! I've been falling in love with this entire fandom just as much as I've been falling in love with this pairing. Please read, review, and critique! Honestly, any feedback and comments are welcome. Your thoughts on my work make my day always make my day! xx- PS_


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